Realizing that Ash Wednesday came to us almost a week ago, nevertheless I’d like to share with you the fine homily Pastor Ron Luckey at Faith Lutheran Church, Lexington, Kentucky, gave to us on the first day of Lent before we received the Imposition of Ashes and Holy Communion.
The Homily
Christians are known for doing a lot of odd, eccentric things in church. We cross ourselves. We kneel. We bow at the waist when the cross passes in procession. We lay hands on people’s heads and pray for their healing. But there is probably no more eccentric act in the church than the ancient practice that we perform on Ash Wednesday.
The palms from last Palm Sunday have been burned and mixed with olive oil to make a paste. And in a few minutes from now well-dressed, educated, relatively sane adults with their bright young children in tow and their beautiful babies in their arms will come forward to have their foreheads smudged with those ashes.
A primitive act really—worthy of a spread in National Geographic. When you think about it, it runs counter to everything we hold dear in this society. We live in a society that idealizes beauty and flawless complexions. We spend billions covering up wrinkles and hiding the dark circles under our eyes and getting rid of blemishes and even risking skin cancer to make ourselves darker than we are. And yet, once a year what do we do? We make a choice to get up from whatever we’re doing, drive on wintry streets and come to a place like this where we know good and well that somebody like me is going to undo what we spend so much time and money doing.
It’s really quite amazing. In a world that promotes cover ups of all kinds—from cosmetics to politics . . . In societies that encourage us to pretend to be what we are not, people have gathered in churches all over the world today as they have for centuries to drop their guard and stop their pretending for awhile and admit who they really are. In a world where a good name means everything and where unblemished credentials are a ticket to success, we come here on Ash Wednesday leaving our academic degrees at the door and all the things we may have going for us—our our reputation, our jobs, our bank accounts. And we become marked men and women wearing our true identity on our brow.
The mask comes off on Ash Wednesday. And the church tells us who we are and where we’re headed. ”Remember that you are dust and to dust you shall return.” The same words God spoke to Adam way back in Genesis, chapter three, God says to us. God says it, not to make us grovel. But just to set the record straight. To get us oriented again. ”Remember that you are dust,” God says. Not self-made like we are so fond of saying in this country. “Remember that you are dust.” Not self-sufficient, able to make it on our own.
The ashes remind us that when all is said and done, none of us has anything to write home about. Everything we have comes from God. And any good thing we are is God’s doing, not ours. We are simply dust. Fragile and easily moved this way and that depending on how the wind blows. “And to dust we shall return.” Which is God’s way of reminding us that there are limits to this life. Boundaries that enclose our years. Soon or late, “Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.” Someday we will fall and not be able to get up.
The ashes say we don’t have all the time in the world. So we must not wait to tell our sons and daughters that we love them. We must not wait to reconcile with someone with whom we are at odds. We do not have the luxury of time to wait until it feels right to be compassionate to the poor and just to the unfairly treated. We do not have the time to put off confessing some sin that separates us from God. “To dust you shall return.”
The city installed speed bumps in our neighborhood a few weeks ago. People were going too fast down a particular street a block from our house that has lots of children on it. So, it was a good thing to do. But at some level, I resent those speed bumps. They slow me down to ten miles an hour. They get in my way. But, if I were to complain, someone would say: “They get in your way? That’s why they’re there. To get in your way.”
Ash Wednesday is the speed bump the church puts in our way each year. It’s the church’s way of blocking our path and forcing us to consider the danger our sin causes to ourselves and others. It’s the church’s way o getting in the way so that God can have the last word with us and set us straight about who we are and give us a proper sense of urgency about our lives. So that maybe…just maybe, we will pray and give alms and fast and work for justice and recommit ourselves to God and to one another.
The church is not polite on this day. It tells us in a blunt and curt manner things we don’t want to hear. But things we need to hear. “Remember that you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” We can run from that truth on a lot of days. But not this day. And that’s a good thing, because then we’ll be in a position to truly appreciate and truly receive the fact that the mark on our brow is the mark of the cross. The mark that keeps us under God’s protection even though, by our merits we don’t deserve it.
This is not just any smudge we wear today. This is a sign of who we are but also, thank God, of whose we are.
